


Drained, Empty, Alone

by a_nonny_moose



Series: 100 Quote Prompts [11]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Dark has mood swings.





	Drained, Empty, Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic you should read while listening to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWVGZBFIg8w . I'll tell you when to hit play.

“I did not know you could sing.” 

Dark whipped around, startled, to see Google_B standing in the doorway. With a snarl, he leaped up. “What could you possibly want?”

Google_B stood, blinking. “Dr. Iplier requested your presence, but if I am interrupting–”

“Get out.”

“Dr. Iplier–”

“I don’t care what Dr. Iplier or his robot nurse wants,” Dark sneered, letting black smoke begin to whip around his room. “Get. Out.”

Google_B shot Dark a glare, but slowly, stiffly, walked out of the room. With a click, the door swung shut, and Dark took a breath. The swirling smoke around him dissipated, leaving the room seeming emptier than before. 

Dark turned away from the door again, falling back into his chair. It had been a long week– much like the Host, Dark wanted to be left alone by the other Egos. Wilford, as respectful as he was of the Host’s boundaries, had little to no respect for Dark’s. Dark grimaced, remembering the day before, Wilford bursting into his office to demand that Dark join the rest of the Egos in cooking dinner. 

Wilford, unfortunately, was as powerful as he was. Dark could only order him out and hope he complied. Wilford, at the best of times, was stubborn. With a sickening pink flash, Wilford had teleported both himself and Dark into the kitchen, where Oliver and Bim had managed to drop flour, boiling water, and marinara sauce on him in the space of two minutes. Even Wilford didn’t stop Dark when he left, fuming.

Now– now, Dark thought, lips curling into a smile, he was alone. Blissfully solitary. Despite Google_B’s intrusion, Dark could finally feel himself beginning to relax. His powers, always within control, slipped gently out of him in wisps of black smoke. There was no need to contain them, so long as no one bothered him. The miasma swirled around the room, and Dark watched it with pleasure. Moving shadows, tendrils of smoke– they were beautiful, in a way. 

Today was a day to rest. Mark hadn’t been to the office since Dark had persuaded him to upload the video of the two of them singing. It might have been a little much, Dark admitted, to have possessed each of the computers and corrupt his other videos for the day– but in the end, the singing video went up, and Dark could feel his power grow. More people saw him. More people believed. Dark basked in the attention, ignoring Mark’s fury, and even laughed when he stormed out of the office, laptop in hand. 

The only sound in the office was the smoke, whipping like wind around the walls. Dark breathed a little easier, leaning back in his chair. His office was where he felt the most at ease, all monochrome and straight lines. Solid, predictable, immovable. 

Assured that one of the Googles or Dr. Iplier weren’t about to barge in again, Dark allowed himself to lower his defenses. Slowly, gradually. The wind storm of miasma picked up, nearly whistling around the room. Not a paper on his desk moved, not a hair on his head ruffled. 

[hit play]

He hummed, quietly at first, lips pressed into a thin line. A low E, an F#, and the tune that had been stuck in his head all day was suddenly in his throat. 

The light in his room dimmed, finally, and went out. Dark sat in his office, surrounded in blackness, perfectly at peace. 

G, then back to F#. A, then back to G. His humming grew in volume, and the shadows swirled in time with his thoughts.

For once, Dark wasn’t thinking about the channel, even about the other Egos. His eyes were fixed on the miasma dripping from the walls, his ears listening to the sound of his own voice. Nothing much mattered, just now. The world was his, and his alone. He was King. 

Finally, leaning back in his chair, Dark opened his mouth to change a tone from a muffled ‘mmm’ to a crystal clear ‘ooo.’ The notes were so simple, black and white. His voice was so strong, overwhelming the sound of his own black, swirling aura. His office was empty of furniture, of people, but his own resounding voice seemed to fill the room. 

The ‘ooo’ changed to an ‘aaa;’ Dark closed his eyes, allowing himself to slip into the music of his own voice. It was rare, so rare that he felt this content. The power building up in his chest, carrying around the room on a near-palpable wave of smoke, made everything that he’d done worth it. Mark wasn’t around today? He’d be around tomorrow. And Dark would be there. Dark would always be there.

A harsh sound cut across his train of thought– the door crashing open. Dark, furious, leapt to his feet, again. His power was outside of him, the smoke still swirling around his room, blacking out the walls. At the sound, all movement stopped, even the miasma holding its breath. The light overhead flickered on.

Dr. Iplier, Google_B looking smugly over his shoulder, stood in the doorway. “D-Dark, I–”

“Doctor.” He snarled. “What did I say about leaving me alone?”

“I– You–”

Dark’s smoky aura was, for once, wholly outside of him. The wisps of smoke, frozen mid-curl from the Doctor’s intrusion, suddenly resolved themselves: darkening, sharpening. 

It seemed as though a thousand daggers filled the room, pointed straight at Dr. Iplier’s heart. 

A thousand and one. Dark looked the Doctor in the eye, almost smiling. “Get. Out.”

“P-please see me later for your v-vaccinations,” he managed to stutter, backing into Google_B as the door slammed shut. 

With a sigh, Dark pinched the bridge of his nose. The miasma seemed to relax, becoming liquid again, before dissipating completely. He was suddenly tired, as tired as if he’d been with Wilford all day. 

Drained.

Scowling, Dark snapped his fingers. The door locked itself, for good this time. He was alone again, but the spell was broken. Suddenly, the room was too bright, too open. His breathing shallow, Dark turned to face his empty desk. 

Empty.

His steps echoed in the stillness. He tried to hum again, set himself at ease– his voice was lost somewhere in his throat. Dark set himself down in his chair, and could hardly stop himself from putting his head in his hands. Instead, he sat, stiff, staring out at his own small office.

Alone.

Mark hadn’t been to the office today, hadn’t even seen Dark in days. He was fighting Dark, battling against his influence. And Dark, for all his power, couldn’t stop Mark from shutting him out. Despite the rush of strength that the latest video had given him, Mark was cutting him off, and his willpower was deteriorating.

It had been so long since Dark had been able to break through Mark’s mind, even catch him off guard. So long since a video featured him. So long since his power had grown. 

There was anger, of course. Frustration. That much, he could live with. But this: the long stretches of time without progress, the dead wall in front of him– this was a drought.

Dark could only sigh, his chest tight. Anger couldn’t solve everything. 

A distraction– something, anything, to pull himself out of his own head. He pulled smoke out of his fingertips, slowly, almost painfully. It wasn’t as natural as it had been. Now, he forced himself to pool miasma in his palms. Smoke swirled gently around him, a slow, almost gentle tornado. 

Dark stared blankly at his hands, streaming with blackness, dripping between his fingers. The smoke picked up, almost whistling past his ears. 

E, F#, G, F#. The tornado sang, his own emotions echoing back to him. Drained, empty, alone.


End file.
